


Temptation Waits

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-15
Updated: 2006-08-15
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam has an accident at school that leads to a confession of sorts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Temptation Waits  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)**keepaofthecheez**  
**Characters:** wee!Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17 for language and incest.  
**Category:** wee!Wincest, slash  
**Word Count:** 2, 976  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** pre-Pilot; incest, m/m sexual content, dirty language, abuse of ellipses, etc.  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** Sam has an accident at school that leads to a confession of sorts.   
**Notes:** This about killed me to write. I don’t know why, and I’m still not sure if it even makes any sense. But in the end, this is what came out, and it is what it is. Enjoy or...don't, I guess. :)  
  
  
  
  
Dean should’ve known something was up the second Sam got in the car. First of all, Sammy wasn’t bitching. Not about Dean’s music, or the fact that Dean had moved the passenger seat all the way forward as a joke that _never_ failed to amuse, well, him. Instead, Sam just slid in, all loose arms and legs and a goofy grin on his face as his gaze met Dean’s across the width of the Impala.  
  
“Hiiii, Dean! Thanks for picking me up!” Sam’s voice matched his smile; bright, cheerful, and slightly loopy as he reached up and scratched where a bright splash of red paint stained his cheek.  
  
Dean blinked. “Uh…okay, dude.” He rolled his eyes, figuring Sam’s mood swings (hadn’t he been pissed-off and irritated that morning?) were just another weird-ass phase Sam was going through. Like soccer. With an internal shudder at _that_ idea, he started the car and peeled out, eager to put the sight of Sam’s high school in his rearview mirror. God only knew he had enough scary memories of his own about that brick building.  
  
Poison blared out of the stereo and Dean tapped his fingers along with “Nothing but a Good Time”, singing under his breath as they drove past the rows of tidy suburban homes, heading toward the outskirts of town where the Winchesters put out the welcome mat.  
  
“You know,” Sam started out of the blue, head flopping against the seat as he turned to look at Dean. “You know…is it just me, or did your car freaking _shrink_ , Dean?”  
  
Dean glanced over to find his brother twisting and trying to fit his long legs into the small floor-space the front seat provided. He couldn’t help but cackle a bit at the ridiculous sight, and when Sam looked over at him, confusion written across his flushed features, he only laughed harder.  
  
“What’s so funny?” Sam asked, tripping a bit over the words. Dean’s smile faded, and he looked more closely at Sam. His brother was still smiling, which he definitely should _not_ have been doing. Sam should’ve realized immediately what was going on, and Dean should’ve been getting an earful right about now that he would’ve countered by blasting the radio loud enough to drown out Sam’s whining.  
  
For a split-second, he wondered if it really _was_ Sam in the car with him. Fuck…weirder shit had happened before. His fingers tightened around the wheel, and he barked out, “What’s your favorite food, Sammy?”  
  
Sam blinked. “What?”  
  
“Favorite food. Tell me now.”  
  
“Is this a test?” Sam giggled – fucking _giggled_ \- and Dean’s worry grew ten-fold. Sam was an angsty, emotional little bastard. He did _not_ giggle. Something was wrong. “Okay, well, God, I hope I don’t fail.”  
  
Dean growled, pulling into the driveway of their small home and throwing the car in park. His fingers were itching to reach for the small pistol taped beneath his seat, but then he caught Sam’s eyes and…Christ…it _looked_ like Sam. What if he was wrong? “Answer the question, _Sam_.”  
  
“Fine. Paranoid much? I like macaroni and cheese…with the little hot dogs cut up in it. Happy now?” Sam blew a raspberry and reached for the door handle. The seatbelt held him immobile when he tried to step out, and he fell back laughing again. “Oops. Forgot.”  
  
Okay, so he’d gotten _that_ question right. But that didn’t prove anything.  
  
“What’s the name of that little stuffed bunny you sleep with?”  
  
“Fuck you, I got rid of that thing three years ago.” Sam unhooked his seatbelt and got out of the car, Dean following close behind. “Does this mean I get to ask you a bunch of random questions, Dean? Because I have one. Why do you make that weird noise when you’re jerking off at night? It’s like you’re choking and…yeah, the one you’re making right now, actually.”  
  
Dean stopped choking long enough to manage, “Okay, it’s you.”  
  
Sam cocked his head, grinning as Dean shoved the key in the door and stepped over the salt line. “You’re weird.”  
  
“Says Sir Laughs-a-Lot,” Dean muttered lamely, embarrassed and still thinking about Sam’s previous question. He hadn’t realized he’d been so…obvious in his nocturnal activities. He snuck a quick look at Sam from beneath his lashes, finding Sam staring back at him with an unreadable smile on his face before he turned and headed deeper into the house.  
  
They definitely needed to have a talk.  
  
Scratching his neck and trying to figure out how in the living _hell_ he was gonna start _that_ conversation, Dean came to an abrupt halt as soon as he entered the living room. His hand fell limply, his eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. “Sam?”  
  
Sam was sprawled out on the floor, eyes closed and mouth slack. Dean entertained a few nightmarish scenarios of demonic possession, disease, death during the short seconds it took for Sam’s eyes to pop open and meet Dean’s.  
  
His voice was thready and hoarse when he said, “I…fell over.” He blinked wide puppy-eyes and then grinned. “How embarrassing.”  
  
“Sam, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Dean barely refrained from shouting, kneeling beside his brother and helping him sit up. “You were fine this morning…I don’t…do I need to call Dad? Talk to me, man. I don’t—”   
  
He was babbling now, close to freaking the fuck out, but this was _Sam_ and if something had happened and he hadn’t been there to stop it…Dean would never be able to forgive himself.  
  
Sam pouted the minute Dad was mentioned, and that went a long way toward making Dean feel better, sad as it was. Sam was always more open and carefree when Dad was off on a hunt. Sam’s long fingers gripped Dean by the shirt-collar, bringing their faces close together. Dean jerked, trying to ignore the quick jolt that gave him, before Sam said, “Don’t call him…I didn’t mean to, Dean.”  
  
“Didn’t mean to _what?_ ” Dean raked a hand through his hair, on-edge and ready to scream. “What the fuck happened, Sam?”  
  
Sam was silent for a long moment, and then he sighed and leaned against Dean. “I was cleaning up art supplies. New kid always gets stuck doing that crap, you know?”  
  
Actually, Dean didn’t know. Not only had he never taken art (thank God) but he’d’ve beat the hell out of anyone who tried to stick him with anything even remotely resembling a chore. For better or worse, Sam wasn’t as hot-tempered as his older brother.  
  
“I guess the paint thinner made me a little loopy,” Sam admitted, scratching at his cheek again and shrugging his shoulders.   
  
“Why didn’t you open a fucking window, dorkus?” Dean was frustrated and angry – at Sam for scaring the hell out of him, and at himself for dropping out when he could’ve been there to watch out for Sam. “Jesus, can’t we let you go anywhere by yourself?”  
  
For the first time since Sam had gotten inside the Impala, he frowned and looked mutinous. “Screw you, Dean.”  
  
He scrambled to stand up, nearly losing his balance three different times, and Dean finally grabbed hold of him and tried to help. Sam jerked away, sending them both falling and wrestling to the floor in a jumble of arms and legs and curses. Dean eventually managed to right them, shoving Sam up against a wall so he could get a word in edgewise.  
  
“You need to sleep it off, bro,” he warned, holding Sam beneath the armpits. Despite a few recent growth spurts, Sam had yet to outgrow Dean, which meant Dean still had the advantage when it came to size and brute strength. “Time for a nap.”  
  
But Sam didn’t look like he’d heard a word Dean had said. Glazed eyes focused on Dean’s mouth, and then he said, “Hey. What _are_ you thinking about at night, Dean?”  
  
Dean froze, becoming vaguely aware that Sam had wrapped his long legs around his middle and was letting the wall support his back more than Dean’s hands. The position was way more intimate than it had any right being, and Dean’s brain told his hands to drop his brother – on his nosy little ass, if he had to – but his body wasn’t listening.  
  
“It’s just…you do it so much,” Sam continued, looking and sounding much younger than he was thanks to the effects of the paint thinner. And yet, there was a subtle maturity in his eyes that Dean couldn’t bring himself to look away from. Sam had always had the oldest eyes he’d ever seen.  
  
“Sam—” he finally found his voice, raspy and worried and edged with some other emotion he had no business thinking about. “I don’t think—”  
  
“You didn’t think I was awake,” Sam finished, expression certain and…determined? He definitely wasn’t having any trouble getting his words out anymore. “I know you didn’t. You’d’ve never kept on if you thought I was listening.”  
  
Oh, hell. Dean swallowed, becoming distinctly more aware of the press of his fifteen-year old brother’s thighs around his waist. Again, he moved to let Sam go, but Sam tightened his grip and shook his head.  
  
“Were you thinking about that waitress in Midland?” Sam continued, voice almost accusing now as he watched Dean’s reaction through his lashes. “You flirted with her a lot.”  
  
Dean couldn’t even put a face to the female in question now. “Uh…yeah, Sam. That’s who I was thinking about.”  
  
“Oh.” There was a moment’s silence, and then Sam’s bottom lip poked out. “I don’t think of girls that way.”  
  
Dean’s heart took a swan-dive to his feet. “What?”  
  
“I’ve tried…there’s this girl, in my class?” Sam licked his lips and looked lost and confused before adding, “She, uh, she let me feel her boobs once. But it didn’t…it didn’t _do_ anything to me. Not like…”  
  
“Oh, Jesus.” Dean wanted to run away screaming, but this was _Sam_. Dean hadn’t had anyone to talk to when the same feelings had come over him, and he’d be damned if he left Sam treading water on his own. “Sam…God. Okay. It’s…”  
  
“I keep thinking about you instead, and I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it, and you smell so good, Dean, and I’m scared you’ll kick my ass if I tell you but I guess I just did and so…” Sam cut himself off, swallowing and looking everywhere but at Dean.  
  
All Dean could manage was a choked, sputtering sound. Sam’s words played on a taunting loop in his mind, nonsensical and preposterous. And yet, deep down? Dean couldn’t even pretend he was really all that upset.  
  
“Let me down.” Suddenly Sam was fighting him again, movements wild and frantic, and Dean almost caught an elbow in the face before he finally pressed Sam up harder against the wall in an attempt to still his brother’s actions.   
  
“Sam! Calm down…what…”  
  
“Don’t look at me,” Sam answered in a strangled voice, features flushed and eyes downcast. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”  
  
Dean stared at him, a thousand different possible replies echoing in his head. But all that came out was, “Not gonna do that, Sam. Tell me what’s going on here.” Even if it ended up making things worse.  
  
Sam fought a bit more, but his movements were weaker and Dean barely had to struggle to keep him still. Sam’s chest was heaving, and he looked close to crying now.  
  
“I’m-I’m dirty and bad, like the people Pastor Jim talks about on Sunday. I’m going to hell, Dean. I know it.” His voice was thick with tears and disgust, and Dean could only stand there silently, the words ringing in his ears like a mocking taunt of his own feelings. _Fuck, Sammy._ His brother’s eyes were over-bright, breath uneven and shallow, and Dean’s heart was lodged up somewhere near his nose.  
  
“You’re not…” His voice cracked a bit on the denial, hands reaching out to grip Sam by the shoulders. Hard. “Look at me. You’re not dirty, Sam.” He had to laugh, a bit hysterically, when Sam’s eyes shot to his. In the end, the decision was much too easy to make. “And, hey, if you’re going to hell, you’re not leaving me behind, right?”  
  
He was on his knees before Sam could answer. Sam’s head hit the wall on a rough gasp when Dean’s fingers tugged on his belt, and then he was murmuring listlessly, “Oh God, Dean, please…I…”  
  
“Shut up.” But Dean said it with affection, pulse thundering in his ears as his brother all but humped into his palm. He pressed the heel of his hand just there, trying to ignore the deliciously fucked-up knowledge that this…this was what had been torturing him late at night. “Just slow down. I’ll get you there.” And he would, and _he’d_ be the one doomed for a fiery damnation. Never Sam.  
  
He wasn’t going to think about the part of himself that had been longing for this. This wasn’t about him. This was to prove…what? That Sam wasn’t the only one with twisted desires? That if Sam’s fantasies were perverse and “wrong”, then Dean’s were ten times as bad?   
  
He was about to blow his fifteen-year old brother who was doped up and sloppy-high off paint fumes. If there _was_ a hell, Dean already had a bus ticket in hand with Satan’s signature scrawled across the front.  
  
But then Sam’s fingers were buried in his hair, tugging, voice pleading and slurred. “Dean, your mouth, are you gonna…oh God…” He jerked violently, sending his denim-clad groin grazing against Dean’s cheek, and Dean sucked in sharply at the feel of little Sammy – hard and desperate and right where he fucking wanted him.  
  
Sam’s jeans were tugged down his legs, Dean’s hands pressing his hips back against the wall as his brother twisted and moaned and started babbling things Dean couldn’t catch. Sam reached a hand between them, feeling for Dean’s lips and trying to pump his hips as he gasped, “So fucking pretty like that, Dean.”  
  
“Pretty?” Dean managed, tone thick and raspy. “Fuck you, dude.”  
  
“Wanna fuck your mouth,” Sam whispered, and Dean’s gaze shot up to meet his brother’s. Sam’s eyes were blown, lids heavy and cheeks flushed. And Dean knew it shouldn’t have looked so goddamn hot, but he was years beyond being able to rationalize shit when it came to Sam.  
  
Instead of answering, he lowered his head and kissed just the tip of Sam’s cock, relishing the sharp groan even as guilt warred with pleasure. His fingers dug into the cut of Sam’s waist, his lips parting, eyes falling closed in surrender. Sam’s voice caught, a broken litany of curses – some of which would have impressed Dean under any other circumstance – escaping his throat as his hips worked in short, frantic little bursts Dean tried to control as best he could while concentrating on sucking Sam’s dick down his throat.  
  
“Oh God, Dean…you look… fucking love you…can’t…”  
  
He realized immediately that it was the first suck-job Sam had ever gotten, and why that should’ve made his own dick even harder was a Freudian mystery. He looked up through his lashes, finding Sam staring down at him – bottom lip caught between his teeth, chewing the tender flesh mercilessly.   
  
The little sounds spilling from Sam’s mouth were wreaking havoc on his own self-control, and Dean reached down and palmed himself through his jeans. The only thing worse than blowing his baby brother in their living room while their dad was away would be jerking off while he did it. And yet, his fingers were already tearing at his zipper, freeing his cock and wrapping around it. Squeezing with every moan Sammy made.  
  
It only lasted about two minutes before Sam was coming, and Dean nearly gagged on that first salty splash deep in his throat. He hadn’t even thought about having Sam warn him, too distracted by the slick-slide of Sam’s cock in his mouth and how fucking naughty this was and how he was oh-so-definitely going to hell even as his fingers worked his dick harder.  
  
He was licking lazily along the shaft, jacking himself and trying not to think about what it was gonna be like later, whether or not Sam would even remember this, when fingers reached down and traced the fullness of his lips surrounding Sam’s dick.  
  
“Is this what you maybe think about at night instead?” Sam asked, voice shot and ragged from screaming his head off while coming. “Your pretty mouth, wrapped around my dick?”  
  
_Hello._  
  
Maybe it was the fact that Dean had just blown him, or maybe it was still the effects of the paint thinner, but whatever had Sammy acting so bold was enough to fuck Dean up. He came immediately on the tail-end of his brother’s words, jerking into his fist and biting back a whimper. Sam just stared down at him, finger still pulling at and plumping Dean’s lower lip.  
  
He never bothered replying to Sam’s question, figuring the answer was already more than obvious. Saying it out loud wouldn’t do either of them any good. Sam’s eyes were already drooping, exhaustion evident in his features as Dean came to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
“Better?” he murmured, trying not to think about the reason why his voice was so husky. Why his lips felt so swollen. When Sam just nodded, back to looking like the innocent freshman he was, Dean’s heart kicked in his chest and he managed a smile. “Time to sleep it off, bro.”  
  
Sam didn’t argue as Dean maneuvered him into their bedroom. Fifteen minutes later, his baby brother was snoring between the sheets, and Dean was gripping the door handle and trying to exorcize the sounds of Sam moaning his name from his memory.  
  
At least, until later that night.


End file.
